


you stay on my mind

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Developing Relationship, Divination, M/M, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9166036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Yes, Keith: I saved you from falling three hundred feet to your death becauseI care about you.”





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> the title’s from beyoncé’s baby boy because ???
> 
> unlike my other works, i want to put this into chapters because i have no idea how long it's going to be. it'll be completed in the next couple of weeks, so it's worth sticking around for. 
> 
>  
> 
> sorting
> 
> Gryffindor - I want to be / red lion description - Keith, Shiro (captain of quidditch team)  
> Slytherin - I will be / ambition, resourcefulness - Lance, Allura (captain of quidditch team)  
> Ravenclaw - I could be / green lion description - Pidge (although she has strong slytherin traits!)  
> Hufflepuff - I try to be / loyalty - Hunk

**part one**

It starts in their first year. Lance walks past him on the train, talking loudly and moving his hands wildly as he tells Hunk some hilarious story that happened over summer. He spots a dark figure-- with dark hair and a black hoodie-- sitting in the corner of a train car, all by himself. The kid’s got big, wide eyes. They’re reflective; taking everything in, silently. 

“Hey,” Lance says, fingers hooked around the wooden frame of the window. It’s a little fogged up. He pokes his head in. “This seat taken?”

“Yeah,” the kid replies, and that’s that. He doesn’t even  _ apologise _ . 

“Rude,” huffs Lance. Hunks tells him to go, and really, that’s it.

  


Except it isn’t. Lance crosses his arms as the sorting hat shouts out a  _ gryffindor! _ before so much touching a strand of the kid’s greasy, pitch black, messy mop of hair. 

Lance forgets about that as soon as the hat shouts out  _ slytherin! _ after a terrifyingly long period of ponder. He’s always looked good in green, he thinks, but blue would suit him, too.  _ Definitely  _ not red. 

  


Lance kicks himself mentally for thinking that  _ Keith _ \-- that’s the boy’s name-- looks good in red; the red of his quidditch robes. The gold makes his eyes stand out, and the dark red matches his pale complexion and dark hair. He looks sort of regal. 

Lance eyes him across the field. He can’t listen to a thing the captain says, and he forgets to use a cheesy line on the girl standing next to him. She’s a year older than him with a pretty smile and hair that smells like heaven, so, truly, Lance doesn’t stand a chance, but he berates himself later in his bed, anyway, just because it’s  _ Keith _ who stops him, and  _ Keith _ who’s on his mind days later. 

  


It’s an outrageous problem that Keith doesn’t leave Lance’s mind a year later, then two. They have classes together, and he sees him all the time on the quidditch field. 

They’re both seekers. Lance can’t count all the times they’ve been neck-in-neck in the air, pushing and pulling at each other with bare hands and silent, illegal spells-- in Lance’s case-- on one hand. 

“Good luck,” Keith sometimes tells him. The sunlight dots his skin in perfect constellations of freckles, so faintly that-- if Lance weren’t so close-- he couldn’t see them. That’d be a shame, a voice at the back of his head tells him. 

Lance nearly  _ snarls  _ at Keith when that happens, and maybe Keith’s teasing is right, maybe he  _ is  _ part werewolf. He’s grown six inches in the past three months. He’s certainly almost as tall as one.  

All Keith does is this awkward little wave, then drop his hand and blink at the ground. He stomps off after that, like Lance has offended him, when all Lance does is  _ retaliate _ . 

“It’s Keith,” Lance whines at dinner. The candles make everything look a little blurred, except for  _ Keith _ , who walks into the hall with bad posture and dark circles under his eyes. He’s trailing behind his brother and Allura, and  _ has he grown taller? _ “God,  _ look at him _ .” Lance swallows a spoonful of mint pudding and scowls. 

“ _ Keith _ ?” Pidge says. They’ve peeked over the book in their hands; from the forbidden section. 

“Yeah,” Hunks says. His mouth’s full, and Lance brushes some crumbs away from the corner of his mouth. “His name’s Keith. He’s the gryffindor seeker. Lance thinks they’re rivals, or something.”

“It’s like… Romeo and Juliet--  _ I’m Juliet _ \-- and he’s-- Keith’s my Romeo,” Lance exhales, “ _ That’s _ the level of rivalry! Rivals to our  _ death _ .”

“Your  _ rivalry  _ is the most epic, famous  _ romance  _ in the history of literature?” Pidge asks. 

Lance bites at the inside of his mouth.

“ _ Whatever _ ,” he says, “Books are for nerds,  _ ravenclaw _ .”

Pidge throws their arms in the air.


	2. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up.

**part two**

Keith’s in his divination class in their third year, and, as Pidge tells him a good week before any of this happens, it’s bound to become a problem. The two of them are a toxic combination. Keith’s given Lance a concussion, Lance broke Keith’s arm. The week after that, Keith dislocated his shoulder in revenge-- it was  _ so  _ not an accident-- and-- just to be petty-- Lance hexed him. He grew purple ears, and his eyes were golden and gleaming.  _ Classic  _ prank, except that Keith looked sort of---  _ cute _ , an annoyingly Pidge-like voice teases Lance. 

It’s the last day of term in December. In less than twenty-four hours, Lance would floo-powder his skinny ass out of Hogwarts, and  _ he-ll-o Veradero beach! _

One more class, and he’s be free. Too bad it’s with  _ Keith _ , although Lance’s always liked divination. The professor’s sort of strange, with a big moustache and scars on his cheek and arms that could tell all sorts of stories. He’d fought Voldemort, as an auror, people say, and Lance thinks that’s  _ awesome _ .

“To make things interesting,” Professor Coran howls, “I’m going to ask you to read each other’s  _ love fortunes _ !”

Everyone looks more alert, as if a switch had been flipped in their brains. 

“Let’s partner up,” he continues, “Seven of you-- no, that won’t work. Kogane, switch to the slytherins, just over there with Sanchez-- and then-- yes, that’ll do!”

Lance watches Keith stare at him with wide eyes-- still so damn reflective-- and shuffle towards him, as if he’d expected Lance to leap out and bite him. 

“Can I-- can I sit here?” Keith asks;  _ such a gryffindor _ . 

“Duh,” Lance replies, “Oh, wait; sorry. My invisible friend’s sitting there.”

Keith frowns, sets his bag down. His legs don’t fit under the table. Lance’s own are pressed up against his. 

“Ghosts  _ are _ real,” Keith says. 

“Whatever,  _ pureblood _ .”

They sit in silence after that. Lance knows he’s probably crossed a line. Keith’s parents were bad people; death eaters, killed by Voldemort after they’d attempted to flee. They got scared, and they paid the price, and that’s probably why Keith swore he’d never get scared. After all these years, Lance had heard the rumours that Keith was sort of mad at his parents. Lance understood them. He couldn’t imagine that living in an wizarding orphanage was lots of fun. After all, his parents always donated presents during Christmas to their local orphanage:  _ santa doesn’t come to those kids _ .

The rest of the class is bustling and loud, but all Lance can do is watch Keith bite his nails. Lance props his chin in the palm of his hand. Keith’s sort of gross but--  _ fascinating _ , like a wild animal behind bars in a zoo. 

“Start your fires, please!” Coran tells them. 

Lance jumps out of his dazed stare as Keith flicks his wand-- phoenix core, like  _ Lance’s--  _ and whips up a small fire on their table. 

“Glad that worked out,” he sighs. 

Lance is  _ shook _ . He remembers huge, terrifying licks of hot, white flames a couple of months ago. Fire’s Keith’s natural element. It’s dangerous, impulsive, and hard to control. Keith’d been banned from using it without teacher supervision. 

Lance blinks. Keith stares back.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Lance states. 

The fire was perfect; small, bright, and warm. It floated in the glass jar. Keith watched it proudly. 

“You-- you’re-- fire,” Lance stutters. 

“Yeah,” Keith snorts, “That’s fire, Lance. You’re so observant.”

Lance feels a hot burn wash over his cheeks, and that’s not from the heat. 

Coran sends herbs flying around the room, and Keith stretches an arm upwards to grab some twigs like they’re the snitch. A sliver of skin is exposed at Keith’s collar. 

Keith stares at them in his hand. He’s clueless.

“You-- you gotta-- here.” Lance grabs them, and crumbles them before scattering the pieces into the fire. Keith’s fingers are warm underneath his. 

“Relax,” Coran chants behind them, “Sink into the ground. Wander your mind. Become one with the fire. Send your thoughts into it; feed it.”

Lance shuts his eyes. Fire’s not  _ really  _ his thing, and Keith’s far too close for his liking. Hunched over the table, he can feel Keith’s breath fan over his cheeks. He wonders what Keith’s seeing, then--

“ _ Holy shit! _ ”

Lance can’t help himself. There’s a lion jumping at him from the flames. It looked so clear it was almost real.

“Language, Lance!” Coran reprimands.

“Sorry,” he mutters. 

He watches Keith flutter his eyes open.

“You see anything?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Lance heaves, “A-- a giant fucking lion; just-- a big ass lion. I saw my life flash before my eyes, too. I guess the love of my life wants to kill me.”

Keith laughs at that. It sounds harmonious. He’s got nice teeth, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“Like gryffindor,” he says, and  _ oh _ ,  _ f-u-u-u-c-k _ .

Lance’s got it, got it  _ bad _ . 

“You-- d’you see anything?” Lance asks. His throat feels like sandpaper, and he wipes his sweating palms down his thighs. 

“A snake,” he replies, “I don’t know what kind, but it was a snake, or maybe a worm?”

“Cool,” Lance says, “Hey-- d’you think--”

“ _ Palmistry _ ! Let’s do that! Get your books out, I know you have the memory of a newborn screwt!”

_ Screw you, Coran. _

“You’ll read each other’s heartlines.”

_ Wait, no-- nevermind. _

Lance turns bright red as he realises that he’d have to touch Keith-- Keith’s  _ hand _ \-- and vice-versa.

“Do me first,” Keith mutters. His ears are bright red. “I’m-- I kind of suck at divination. I’ve only ever seen that worm.”

“You-- why d’you take this class if you suck at it?” Lance’s mind is sort of blank at the sound of Keith telling him to do him. “Think it was an easy, bullshit class?”

Keith shrugged.

“Shiro told me I couldn’t do it.”

“That’s-- he’s your brother, right?”

“ _ Cousin _ .”

Lance throws his hands in the air. 

“Whatever,” he says. He shuffles closer, grabs Keith’s hand before he thinks otherwise. It’s warm. The tips of his fingers are black with charcoal or soot, or something, from making that tiny, beautiful, fascinating little flame. “So this guy tells you not to take a class and you-- you--”

“I take it.”

Lance stops his kneading and looks up at Keith. He’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning either. It’s a good look on him. 

“Why d’you take it?” Keith asks. He sounds genuinely curious, as if he’s actually interested in Lance’s life.

“Thought it’d be cool, and like-- that’d they’d teach me to see into the future, or something, and then I’d be like Spiderman.”

Keith blinks down at him. 

“ _ Spider _ -man?” Keith asks. He tilts his head a little.

“Yeah, you know-- Spiderman. He’s a-- a superhero. You know what those are, right?”

Keith frowns. 

“Listen,” he growls, “Just ‘cause I’m a pureblood doesn’t mean I live under a rock.”

He’s close to Lance; a little too close. Lance can feel his breath fan hotly over his cheeks.

“Got it,” Lance chokes. He draws his attention back to Keith’s palm, cradles it in his own. He traces the grooves on it with his index finger. 

“Small hands,” he mutters.

“What?” Keith says.

Lance grins.

“‘S not an insult, just means you’re a person of action,” he drawls, “You don’t always think before you act, right?”

Keith laughs.

“Not really,” he says. 

“Your lines are clear and sort of deep. You don’t really listen to reason, do you? That’s probably why your fires are strong. Instincts first, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, “You’re-- you’re pretty good at this.”

Lance feels his cheeks burn.

“Thanks,” he says, “It’s-- it’s my third favourite class.”

“After…?” Keith asks. He’s leaning forward ever so slightly.

“Charms; and DADA. Professor Altea is  _ awesome _ . I wanna be-- I wanna be a curse breaker,” Lance says. He rubs his hand against the back of his neck.

“That’s pretty-- cool; pretty cool.”

Lance grins.

“Anyway,” he continues, “That’s your heart line; just at the top here.” He traces it with his index finger. He sees Keith swallow thickly. “It’s-- uh-- pretty high, I think, and that means-- you’re not the warmest person out there but-- it’s also curves upwards. You can be affectionate. It’s smooth, too. There’s just; just the one line. You-- you’re--” He leans down, staring at Keith’s hand. He looks up, once, and sees Keith watching him. “You might just be with-- with one person, I guess.”

Keith’s frozen. Lance turns his head; they’re almost nose to nose. Their thighs touch. Lance feels a shock of heat run up his leg, into his chest.

“I-- I mean, I’m no expert,” he babbles, “Could be wrong.” He shuffles back, and Keith nods.

“Guess I should do you now.”

“Guess you should.”

Keith nods, and Lance reaches out his hand. He tries not to shiver the moment Keith’s fingers touch him, or flinch with the fear they might stain his skin with black dust, too. 

“You-- you’ve got big hands,” Keith tells him, “Well-- I mean-- not  _ too _ big. Hang on, let me check.”

Lance watches him flip through the pages of the textbook. 

“Yeah, pretty big, which means-- means you’re a-- thinker?”

“Hat almost sorted me into ravenclaw,” Lance boasts. Keith’s lips stretch into a half-smile.

“That’s-- that’s a water hand, right? You’ve got a long palm-- which makes sense, if your hand is big-- and long fingers, too, with-- with really fine lines, and… soft skin,” Keith trails off.

“Yeah, definitely. I moisturise daily.”

“ _ When it comes to love, wizards or witches with water hands are caring and openly affectionate, _ ” Keith reads, “That’s cute.”

“I’m not cute! I’m drop-dead sexy!”

Keith laughs, raising a hand to cover his mouth, which Lance thinks is a shame, really.

“You can be both,” he says. Lance swallows thickly. Keith runs his fingers along Lance’s palm, reading the book and glancing back to Lance’s hand with a furrowed brow and a slight pout. 

“The heart line; your heart line is-- pretty smooth, I guess, which is good,” Keith says. His eyelashes flutter, long and dark. “No idea if its curvy or straight.”

“Definitely not straight,” Lance exhales. 

Keith shoots his head back up, blinks at him, and holds his breath.

“Right,” he states quickly, “Anyway. Looks like you’re a-- a one-girl sort of guy. That’s-- surprising.”

“Surprising?”

“Yeah,” Keith mutters, “I mean-- you’re-- you hit on every witch you find, and you’re so pretty-- handsome-- I mean,  _ girls  _ think you must be… pretty handsome.”

Lance shrugs.

“That’s just fun,” he says, “I gotta live while I’m young. I know I’m gorgeous,” he grins, “But, I mean, there’s only one person out there for me.”

“What, like-- like soul mates?”

Keith stares at him like he’s a miracle, or something. 

“Yeah,” Lance mouths slowly, “I-- I--”

“Come along, twiglets! Class is over, time to back up!”

_ Damn it, Coran! _

Both of them jump a goddamn mile, and Lance watches Keith tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. The bell would ring in a good two minutes; the sweet, sweet release Lance yearns for. 

“I’ve got an any for you to write over the holiday, too,” Coran says, wriggling his fingers to enchant the chalk to draw out a title on the board, “Do write it down.”

Lance slumps in his seat. He copies it down, regardless, but collapses on the desk. Keith bites the side of his thumb, and cranes his neck to do the same. Seeing Keith struggle to look past the other students, Lance nudges Keith with his foot, and lets him copy from his own notes instead. 

“I don’t even know what these words mean,” Keith mumbles.

“What, tessomacy?” Lance replies, “That’s fortune telling with tea and shit; ‘s what my grandma does, ‘cept she’s a muggle, and just  _ thinks _ she does.”

Keith shrugs.

“I’ll cram it when I get back in January,” he tells Lance.

There’s an opening, here, somewhere, Lance realises. A spot of luck, or maybe fate, and all Lance had to do is reach up and grab it. He could help Keith write it, spend time with him huddled in the library or down in Hogsmeade, and then--

The bells rings.

Keith nods at him, grabs his bag, and flees; and Lance? Lance feels his chance slip through his fingers like sand. It physically hurts him. His chest aches, and he feels numb all over. 

Shoving his books into his own bag, Lance stumbles and stands. His legs hurt from being folded under the table, and he shuffles out, squeezing past other students with a pout on his lips. He’s not even sure  _ why _ , but there’s just something about Keith, the way his hair looks so soft, how nice his eyes are, how his hands are warm, and how absolutely charming the black tint on his fingers is.

“Hey, Lance!” he hears Pidge shout in his ear, “You’ve got free period, right? I’ve got this terrific-- hey…,” they say softly, “You okay?”

Lance sighs. The corridor’s nearly empty, now, and it echoes in it.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “‘m fine.”

“You look horrible. Did Coran get mad at you, or something?”

“No, it’s just--”

Hurried steps sound down the stairs. Clinging tightly to the bannister, Keith stands on the near bottom of it. 

“Hey, Lance,” he says carefully. 

Pidge looks between them.

“I gotta-- books; library,” they state. They click with their fingers at Lance, winking as if Keith’s a veela, and maybe he is. Lance never asked. 

Lance adjusts his bag on his shoulder. It’s slipping down, he’s got bad posture. 

“What’s up?” exhales Lance. They’re at eye level.

“I-- I forgot to say-- merry Christmas.”

Lance widens his eyes.

“Oh,” he says, “Thanks. You too.”

“Are you-- you’re going home, right?” Keith asks. He’s fiddling with his fingers; still black, Lance notices.

“Yeah,” he replies, “Back to Florida.”

“Cool,” Keith states, “That’s-- cool.”

Lance nods. 

“You’re-- you’re back at the orphanage, right?”

“Yeah.”

Lance pulls his lips into a firm, straight line. He tries looking everywhere  _ but  _ Keith, though he finds himself drawn back to him every time. 

“Hey,” Lance begins, “I’ve-- if there’s-- I promised Pidge I’d help them with charms, so--”

“Do you want to write? To me; over the holidays?”

Lance can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

“You want to-- you want to write to  _ me _ ?” he asks.

Keith bites at the inside of his mouth and nods. 

“Yeah,” he mutters.

Lance feels like he’s won a million.

“Sure! Great!” he says, a little too loudly, “I’d love-- I’d like that! Do you- d’you wanna exchange addresses now? I’m free now-- like, right now.”

Keith smiles. Slowly, and then all at once.

“Me too,” he says. 

Lance walks to the library with such a spring in his step Hunk asks him if Keith hexed him. 

Keith laughs, at that, and Lance can’t help the way his fingers tingle and throat tightens at the sound, and the way Keith’s eyes crinkle at the corners. 

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on tumblr @ reminscees


End file.
